


Blue

by lightningwaltz



Category: Theresia
Genre: Child Abuse, Found Families, Gen, Post-Canon, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 21:11:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief coda for the immediate aftermath of Dear Emile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue

The baby was a sweet weight in Leanne’s arms. He squirmed, coughed, and babbled nonsense sounds. He might have been as heavy as some of the rocks from the fortress, but there was no mistaking him for anything but a living being. There was no question he belonged above ground.

When she bent her head close, the boy giggled in her ear, and his skin smelled of sunlight-baked grass and dirt. It was an aroma far removed from blood, chemicals, or rotten food… but it wasn’t much like Mother’s flowers, either. Leanne rocked him back and forth, mouthing the words of a familiar lullaby. The melody lodged somewhere in her throat. The baby would be quite foreign in the military fortress, but his scent was a nostalgic one. It was not an exact match, but she decided he smelled like the small field that had belonged to Leanne and her horse. Try as she might, she could not recall if Mother had ever met Emmy. She searched every strand of her patchwork memory, and each time Leanne came up blank. It was astonishing, and it was a sin, but Leanne had managed to have a miniscule world beyond Emile. 

She fell to her knees. Small, sharp pebbles scratched at her shins, adding to the injuries that crisscrossed her aching body. Blood from her cheek rained down like a teardrop, landing on the face of the now crying child. 

“Shhhh. It’s alright.” It was the first time she spoke in several hours. Her voice gurgled out, hoarse from screaming and crying. Remembering baptism ceremonies in the church, she drew her blood across the baby’s forehead until he smelled like love. (And may God permit he wouldn’t choke from an excess of it.)

“Do you have a name?” 

The boy was silent, of course, but he followed her with trusting eyes. 

“No? Okay. Don’t worry. We have plenty of time to decide that.” 

She set him down in a safe patch of dirt. A needle from one of the traps had embedded itself in the hem of her dress, and she tore some threads from her ragged sleeves. With these two tools, she sewed up the worst of her cuts. She had eggplant-purple bruises on her thighs, and scabby burns on her knuckles. Leanne reeked of suffering and adoration, and perhaps that’s why she hiked up her skirts to search the field for a non-red flower. 

The baby wailed as soon as she was out of sight, and the sound punched her like a hammer to the heart. But the effort paid off when Leanne spotted a cluster of bright blue flowers. She crushed them in her fists, and rubbed pollen and petals all over her arms. They left pale, sky-colored streaks across the front of her clothes. 

There. _There_. It was a start. 

The child wore a hint of betrayal on his face, but it melted away when she fell down beside him on the grass. He even cooed a bit when she pulled him onto her chest. She watched the sun through her eyelashes, while breathing in the scent of this baby. When she toppled into dreamless sleep, she thought this might lead to oblivion. 

But Leanne was alive.

She was alive, and Theresia howled through her veins, and the restless child was kicking her belly with surprisingly strong feet. Nap time was over. 

She stared into the child’s round eyes, and he stared back. Her blood had dried on his forehead, and bits of it were beginning to flake away.

“I can be your…” 

The word froze in her throat. ‘Mother’ was a word that was as safe as knives, bullets, bombs, and chains. And, like all of those things, it meant unconditional, intractable love. 

Mother had pulled Leanne from the rubble, and called her daughter. 

Leanne had pulled this boy from a peaceful field of flowers, and…

“Do you want to be my... brother?” 

It was a new word. It was a new idea. And when the baby wiggled his head, Leanne took that as an affirmation. She stood up, newly strong after having rested. 

It was time to continue on.


End file.
